The Curse
by kirana44
Summary: When even the slightest show of anger can unleash a beast, how can life ever be normal? Sonic-centric oneshot, based on the Fleetway comics


**Author's Note:** This is an interesting one, since it was originally meant to be about a different character. After watching the short film "Night of the Werehog" (if you haven't seen it already, go look it up; the ghost girl is so frigging cute), I was interested to see that they portrayed Sonic's Werehog transformation as being horribly painful. Why do that? It makes sense for it to hurt, but since when has Sonic ever made any sense? So I was originally going to write about how painful the transformation was and how being the werehog is like "seeing things through an angry red screen" (I thought it was a cool sentance, forgive me for remembering it), but then I realised I didn't know enough about the Werehog since I haven't played Unleashed. I'd already started writing, though; what was I going to do with all this creativity? And then I realised: Who was the coolest and creepiest villain from my childhood? Who was the only villain that kept me guessing, that actually **made me laugh?** Why, Fleetway's Super Sonic, of course! So this is my tribute to the absolute legend that is Super (now that I think about it, he reminds me alot of The Joker).

Sonic belongs to SEGA and Sonic Team, but Fleetway Super Sonic belongs to the Fleetway writers (sure, because **that's** a helpful disclaimer).

* * *

I never thought before now that the sight of my friends simply chatting and having a good time would ever bring me such relief, but it does. Looking up at the pale half-moon, I can only be grateful that the emeralds no longer have the effect that they had on me before. Before I managed to…help myself, I guess – I hate my temper. I dread losing it. More than dread, I think…fear. That's it. I'm afraid, since I'd know what was going to happen, the pain and panic I'd be forced through…and I'd have little choice – no, there really is **nothing** I can do about it. Absolutely nothing. First I feel angry, tired, hurt…and then it comes on, a glowing ball of rage in my chest, and before I can even attempt to stop it it's spreading through me, and I hear his laugh in my head as I go blind and deaf and unfeeling.

You know, I'd always thought that water and spiders (not your normal garden variety, mind) were my biggest fears, but now I know different. You can avoid the sea and you can squish an insect. This really was different, as it taught me to fear something I truly couldn't get away from. Myself. I've learned to fear myself, and it's a lesson I keep having to learn the hard way.

Every time I see the Chaos Emeralds, I flinch. When I hear from Knuckles about how he has to look for pieces of the Master Emerald, I secretly pray that I'm not there when he gets them all. It's like having an allergy and a phobia at the same time; you know that exposure to it will make bad things happen, and you're scared shitless at the very mention of it as a result. Thing is, I can't let anyone know how scared I really am; I'm Sonic the Hedgehog, defender of the people, guardian of all that's good and just. I can't let on that the one thing I fear more than anything else is a bunch of glowy gems. Totally **not** cool.

But now it's not just the Emeralds that set it off. My own temper works now. Anger and pain and worry and dismay…such a potent mix. It's like something from a comic book, isn't it? Hulk mad, Hulk smash and all that jazz. But it works all right, just a little too well for my liking. Too bad for Robotnik that he tends to spark this solution of feelings in me every once in a while. Fool. He should know by now that setting off this reaction in me is like setting off a suicide bomb – everything goes sky high, including the stupid sap that lit the fuse. Everything burns, everything is crushed, obliterated, torn to shreds…no one is immune to my own wrath. Not even my closest friends.

No feeling is worse than looking around at a scene of absolute oblivion, and knowing that you're the cause. The smouldering buildings whose fiery glow is brightening the sky? Laser eye beams can make those easy enough. The battered scraps of wood that looks like a blown-up tree? More than likely torn up with my bare hands. The occasional body lying face-down on the ground, sometimes moaning, sometimes not? My fault entirely, not that I cared at the time.

And he really **doesn't **care, not in the slightest. All he feels is amusement. I only vaguely know what he thinks, what he feels, but it's always a blur. All I get is an angry red haze, a hunger that needs to be fed. It's like he's compulsively forced to destroy, like he has as little control over his actions as I do. With great power comes great responsibility? Bullshit. More like **insanity**. What thoughts of his I have heard are jumbled, incoherent…messy. That's the closest I can get. Messy. A flurry of words, abstract phrases and disjoined half-words and puce curses that are closer to sounds than any language. Pictures too, of what he's done and what he'd like to do. Nothing distinguishable, just flashes of fire and havoc and gore. It's…not pretty. I have to see most of these images when I think and remember all I've done…the splintered caravan, the blazing plane…and it sends shivers through me to think that I did this. I hate it. But unlike me, he enjoys it. I only have to look at the damage he's done to know that he loves it. The smoke of the fire is like oxygen to him, the dust and the blood as smooth as silk against my – **his** skin. The crackling of hungry flames, the crumbling of buildings and the screams of the dying all combine to form a delicious symphony of sound…and he can't get enough. If he could, if he was allowed to have his way, this world will last only as long as he does. Which, thank the gods, wouldn't be that long. That is, unless he actually gets the Chaos Emeralds. If I – he does, God help us all.

Sometimes I can't help but feel guilty for everything he does. I know I'm not in control, I know that…but it's still there. There's this thought, tucked up in the corners of my mind, that maybe, just maybe, I subconsciously have **some **form of control over him, that maybe he's like my very own Mister Hyde; a representation of all my badness and ugliness and evil all jumbled together to create a person – no, that's not it. A monster, all my evil turned into a monster from my nightmares. I know it isn't. I **know** that. It's just all the negative energy of the Chaos Emeralds morphing my mind into a power-crazy psycho, rampaging with my body as a host. I know that for a fact, but still…

There's this thought.

And the worst part always comes after. After he destroys and kills and does whatever the hell he does, I come to, tired beyond all reason (going at his speeds, using so much energy…it exhausts me physically as well as mentally). I open my eyes, knowing what's happened, and I look around to see chaos. No other word can describe it. And I am always left to pick up the pieces. He will do anything, as long as he destroys. He's even tried to kill my friends in the past. The only reason they're still alive now is luck. Sheer, absolute luck. And yet they never blame me for it. If I were them, I'd blame me. If I could choose to, I would run and never see anyone ever again for fear of what I could do to them, but they don't see it that way. The thought that plays in my head never crosses their minds at all.

I don't intend to keep him here for the rest of my life. I'll get rid of him eventually, you'll see – even though we've tried it before. We tried, and failed. All we've ever been able to do is move him somewhere else, push the burden onto someone else. But we'll manage, one day. I can't even describe the feeling I had when we found he was separate from me and too weak to cause any damage. I was relieved – relieved that he wouldn't be causing any more havoc, any more grief...but then another thought was there, always there: What if he comes back? What if he ends up being stronger than before...?

But I'll try and try again. I'll never give up; that's part of my nature, just as it's a part of **his** to be a pain in the ass. He **will **be destroyed one day. One day, there won't be a trace of him left. And when that happens, and only then, I will be relieved and happy. I will finally be free of this curse. But until then...I hate my temper. I fear it.


End file.
